Xavierra Pyre
by mymockingjay
Summary: But then, my world shatters. A spear shoots down from the craft, and impales him. Time stops entirely. My legs won't move, and my heart seems to be numb. I scream his name, “Mica!” as the net swoops down on me" this is the avox girl's story. one shot


**A/N: this is just something I was inspired to do :) i'm still working on I'm Catching Fire, so no worries. This is a story about the red-headed Avox girl. It's a one shot, and probably not very great, but oh well. If you like it, please please tell me! Otherwise I'll probably delete it eventually :P Or even if you hate it review! Don't flame it though! Just constructive criticism :)**

I'm running harder than I've ever run in my life. The oxygen racing through my throat and lungs burns me, like a corroding acid, but I greedily suck in more. Every branch in front and behind me whips me like the leather whips they keep in the districts, but I tell myself that is probably the least punishment I will face if we are captured. More than like they'll kill us on sight, but if my captors feel sadistic, they might think killing me is too easy, too painless.

I couldn't agree more.

But my companion, my friend, my love, what will they do to him? Surely, he will receive the worst of the punishment, since technically it is his crime we are fleeing.

"We can rest now, Zav. They won't look for us here," he whispers, using his nickname for me. Our hearing had become so acute in the past months; we never felt safe speaking aloud.

"Couldn't keep up?" I tease. His tousled hair falls into his eyes, and he glares at me the way only someone who completely adores me can. "You caught me," he says sarcastically.

"How much food is left?" I ask, reluctantly returning to more serious matters. We just hunted two days ago, but running like we do burns up so many calories, we've begun to run low again. Fortunately, the woods we're sheltering in are crawling with life. It shouldn't be difficult to sustain ourselves here. Hunting is another skill we've quickly been forced to acquire.

It turns out we won't need to use it today though, because we eat the remainder of the groosling from District 11. I assume we are somewhere on the outskirts of 12. The thought excites me. _Just one more day_, I think. Then we will be beyond the borders of Panem. Our hopes were to get to District 13, but even if it doesn't exist, we can live as nomads on our own. I know we can. It's the only thing I've clung to in the weeks past.

We find shelter in an enormous willow tree. I find comfort in the flowing vines. They will offer privacy and concealment, more than we had dared hope. Maybe we will finally allow ourselves to relax.

Sleep refuses to come to me, though. I can't imagine why, but nothing I do will take me away from dreadful consciousness.

Giving up, I allow myself, for the first time in months, to think over the day that brought us here.

* * *

We were trapped. There was no other way to put it, even if physically the meaning did not fit. He had uncovered something deadly. Something that would destroy the Capitol's hold on Panem if the public ever found out about it.

He had discovered the truth.

He worked for President Snow. His family was the poorest in all of the Capitol, not that that could ever be considered poor. They all worked for the President. His mother was the personal assistant; his father the accountant; his older brothers the president's personal guards. He himself was his father's assistant, because he wasn't old enough to have a job of his own.

His father was away on business one day, and he had been covering the office for him. Out of mere curious boredom, he had looked into the drawers. There, he found something eternally disturbing.

President Snow had been planning to destroy each district one by one by one. His plans were immaculate; factory accidents, fires, explosions... and only the children left alive, so there would be no one to rebel. The children would then be worked almost to the point of death for the rest of their lives, and would be allowed to have one child each.

He had slammed the drawer shut and run out of the office. He'd run to the one person he could trust.

He'd run to me.

And we'd run off alone, because in his haste, he had stolen the paper from his father's office. He knew who would be punished for it. First his father, then him. Probably his whole family would be put to death. But the idea that I might, too, because I was close to his family, that's what sent us running.

Somewhere in the middle of this, I fall asleep.

* * *

It feels as though my eyes have just fallen shut when he is shaking me, shouting that we have to move. I snap out of my stupor immediately, and a fiery rage fills me. We are so close. So close to freedom! They cannot capture us now!

We are running again, harder than ever before. I don't hear the hovercraft behind us though, so I take the risk of whispering, "How do you know?" He knows what I mean instantaneously, and responds, "Gut feeling."

I make no comment. I trust his gut feelings; they have kept us alive until now. Instead, I run harder, until my lungs feel like heavy bricks in my chest. After about an hour, we begin to slow down. The birds are singing; a good sign there's little trouble.

But then the birds fall silent, and I scream at him to run. We stumble through the underbrush, afraid for our lives. One bird gives a warning call, and I barely manage to glimpse two teenagers, a boy and girl, beneath a large rock outcropping. I catch the girl's eye, and cry out silently for her help. They do nothing, though, and in the moment I am distracted, the hovercraft appears. I know it's futile to outrun it, but we try anyway. What else can we do?

But then, my world shatters. A spear shoots down from the craft, and impales him. Time stops entirely. My legs won't move, and my heart seems to be numb. I scream his name, "Mica!!!" as the net swoops down on me.

But I don't feel the rough ropes against my skin. All I feel is that my heart has been torn in two, and one half lies with Mica. What will they do to me now? I wonder. It can not be half as bad as the gut-wrenching pain I feel at his loss. I will never be whole again.

* * *

When I awaken, I feel for Mica near me automatically. When he is not near, I panic. What if they got him?

Then my heart stops. I remember what happened. I feel absolutely torn in two, and a choked sob escapes me.

"Ah, you're awake Miss Pyre. I trust you had a good rest," a soft voice calls from beside me. Standing above me is President Snow himself. "You didn't really think you would get away with this did you Xavierra Pyre? You have to be smarter than that," he says condescendingly. "No matter, you didn't. It's a pity we had to kill your little friend, though. Mica, wasn't it?" Flinch would be an understatement for the spasm that rocks me. My whole body jerks and quivers at the sound of his name. "Oh well, no matter. We couldn't let both of you live, and he committed the two crimes; you only one. I'm sure he told you about my little plan? Well, well, well. We can't have you telling anyone can we?" I quiver again, this time with white-hot rage. The repulsive man leans down toward me. "Well, it's a good thing you'll never say another word, then, isn't it?" he breathes into my ear.

As he leaves, dread fills me. Never say another word? What could he mean? I cam think of only one explanation. I have heard of the Avoxes who serv the tributes of the Games. They are traitors; their punishment eternal silence, forced to wait on the tributes of Panem. They are a taboo.

I am a taboo.

In that instant, I am filled with a fierce and undying wish that I had been killed as well. Impaled with a spear, so that I wouldn't have to face this world with out him. With out my Micah.

The pain that rolls into my heart threatens to overwhelm me, and I am overcome with choked sounds as I cry myself dry over and over again.

Mica, oh Mica. I have failed you.


End file.
